My WordPress stats tells me that my last post was over two months ago. It is probably the longest that I have gone without posting at least a quote or photo. I confess that I have tried to keep up with many of the blogs I follow, but I know I have missed many good posts. That will be my loss!
My goal for this year, as confided to Loren Rhoads of Cemetery Travels: Adventures in Graveyards Around the World, was to finish a piece that I started several years ago and abandoned because I could not figure out who the murderer was going to be or what the motive would be. Perhaps I don’t multi-task as well as I used to because I couldn’t seem to post regularly and finish my writing project. Many bloggers manage write books and still post every day. I had to choose to solve my murder and finish my novella-sized project, “Tales of the Blue Indigo,” although it does need a bit of polishing . At least I can go on to other writing projects like another incomplete one I titled, “North Beach.” Right now I am now sure what I will do with any of my writing. Perhaps I will combine them into a collection in my other blog, Tales of the Blue Indigo, that only has one post just published but I would be happy to have you visit. The first post is a rather long story titled, “Sug.” I would welcome feedback!
Here is the opening paragraphs of chapter one of my completed writing project,“Tales of the Blue Indigo.”
Joe T. suspected that the old man had brought him along on the ride only to
open and close the gates…then he saw the snake.
Will McNally, an old man at sixty in the eyes the young Joe T., stomped a worn
cowboy boot down roughly on the brake. The blue Chevy pickup stopped like an
obedient quarter horse as the dust it had been kicking up behind caught up with it
and started settling down on top of it. The two cow dogs riding in the back stood
with their front legs on the side of the pickup bed and began barking as McNally
opened the door and jumped out of the truck like a roper off a horse at a rodeo.
“Buster, Lady! Shut up!” he growled. The dogs went silent as their owner crept
around the back of the truck like some Comanche in a raiding party.
Joe T., grateful for the air conditioner blowing in his face, could only stare ahead in
creeping fear as the rattlesnake dragged its heavy body out of the thick brush and
across the gray dust and ruts of the dirt road. He jumped in his seat as McNally’s
face, tanned and lined as a fine cigar, appeared in the passenger window as his hand
motioned for Joe T. to open the window. With shaking fingers he pushed the
automatic button as the tinted glass glided down silently. McNally had left the truck
running , its humming diesel idle was the only sound to compete with his pumping
heart. The heavy heat drifted into the truck and the cool air floated out.
“That’s a big son of a bitch,” McNally whispered, “just watch – maybe you’ll
learn a new trick. Here, take my hat. Be quiet and stay out of my way no matter what
happens,” he warned as he took off his tan felt Stetson to reveal wavy silver hair with
remnants of black that had once been the majority.